


until the darkness does recede

by corpsesoldier



Category: The Luminous Dead - Caitlin Starling
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, I mean that's just the whole book, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corpsesoldier/pseuds/corpsesoldier
Summary: Gyre wakes alone in the cave. She doesn't know where she is. Her suit isn't working. Nothing makes sense, except—Em said she would come for her.
Relationships: Em Arasgain/Gyre Price
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	until the darkness does recede

**Author's Note:**

> title from canary in a coal mine by the crane wives

It was too dark. It shouldn’t be this dark, not with her reconstruction active. But all Gyre could see were shadows, shapes outlined faintly in silver. Gyre reached out her hand—just the vague sense of movement. A lighter gray against the black. She tried to access the suit’s menu, to brighten the reconstruction, or at least turn on the headlamp. Anything. She couldn’t climb like this, in the dark, alone, and she _had_ to climb. Climbing was the only way out. Her heart skipped faster and faster as she tried to get her bearings. She couldn’t even tell where she was.

The menu didn’t appear. She tried the command again. Nothing. Shit, was her suit battery running low again? So soon? The batteries were from Camp Six. The cache there wasn’t compromised. No water. No spores. It wasn’t even that old; certainly not older than the cache she’d found before the waterfall, and Em had told her _those_ would work—

Maybe Em had lied. Lied about the condition of the Camp Six batteries, if she thought the reality would make Gyre difficult to deal with, make her less likely to listen to Em’s instructions.

 _Em wouldn’t do that to you,_ part of Gyre thinks with a confidence that only makes her more confused. Of course Em would lie to her. Em already had.

Maybe it wasn’t the battery. Her suit wasn’t locking up around her, leaving her trapped inside, like the cave itself reaching out to hold her in its grasping hands. It felt fine. Better than fine, better than it had felt even at the beginning of the descent. Her cannula didn’t hurt anymore. The contact gel didn’t feel like a half-shed skin rubbed raw against the armor plating. None of this made sense. Maybe her suit was malfunctioning. Maybe it was finally giving up on her after everything they’d been through. Hell, maybe _she_ was malfunctioning. 

She needed to get out. But she didn’t know the way and she couldn’t call up the map. Nothing looked familiar in the half-light. Everything seemed too clean, the lines of the cave too neat and geometric. Unnatural. Had she been in this part of the cave before? How had she gotten here? She couldn’t remember—she—she had been near Camp Three, hadn’t she? 

Gyre froze, one foot outstretched to probe the way for any unseen drops. How could she not remember? Her head felt thick and fuzzy, like she’d slept too long. Maybe Em had drugged her again. Maybe she had walked Gyre’s unconscious body to—wherever this was, and then shot her full of adrenaline so she could be useful again. Her heart was a stampede in her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. She took gasping sips of the air, her throat tight, and the cave spun around her.

Think. Just think for a second. She could figure this out. If Em had woken her up, then where was she? 

“Em,” she said. Her voice came out a shaky whisper. It sounded strange in her ears. She swallowed and tried again. No good letting Em know she was afraid. “Em? Where the hell am I? Respond.”

Why was Gyre alone? She didn’t want to be alone. She blinked hard once, twice, trying to make the spots of light in the walls disappear. Little green and red eyes stared back at her, keeping watch. A dark voice, the cave’s voice, hissed in her mind _you’re never alone down here._

A tremor wracked her entire body and she stumbled. She reached out to the nearest wall—just wanted to rest for a minute, try to focus—and instead she fell hard against it with a strangely hollow sound.

There was no arm there to catch her.

Gyre sucked a breath through her teeth as it came back to her in a white flash of memory. The pain and nausea and one thought like a white-hot wire strung through her brain: _I don’t want to die here_. The tunnel had collapsed. The tunnel—the Tunneler—the Tunneler had tried to kill her. But she’d gotten lucky. It had just killed her arm instead. It was lying dead in a armored cocoon somewhere behind her.

Gyre bent almost double, trying to slow her racing heart, taking deep swallows of air to keep the bile from climbing up her throat. Em must have drugged her. It was the only explanation. She should be immobile from the pain, but there was nothing. Not even the distant almost-pain she remembered from the hazy period after her gut surgery. Just a broad, warm blankness that terrified her. Em _must_ have drugged her.

Or maybe this was just what dying felt like. 

“Em, please,” Gyre said. She hated the plea in her voice. But she didn’t know where she was or why Em had brought her there or why Em had abandoned her. Without Em there was only the cave. “Come back. Tell me what’s going on. Please.”

The words seemed to drift away from her, to melt into the quiet dark. Her panicked breathing sounded like it was coming from someone else. Gyre’s stomach dropped as she imagined someone beside her—Eli or Isolde, Jenny or Adrian—there to drag her deeper into the earth, their hands rough like stone, the cave made flesh. She held her breath and the silence pressed in, broken only by the furious drum of her pulse.

Nothing. She exhaled in a shuddery burst of air. It was just her. But something was still wrong. The sound was the wrong shape. It wasn’t trapped in her helmet, curled reassuringly around her like her own personal atmosphere, warm and suffocatingly human. All at once, she registered the cool air on her face. It tasted fresh on her tongue. 

A chill ran through her like someone had flushed her veins with ice water. Her suit must be compromised. Her visor—was that what was wrong with her reconstruction?—her visor was damaged, cracked, letting the cave creep inside. Of _course_ it was damaged. Hadn’t the tunnel collapsed on her? How could she have been so stupid?

Oh fuck. She’d called out for Em. She’d spoken.

And that was the end. Such a little thing. A stupid mistake. But she knew it with dull certainty, the same way she knew where her hand was in a pitch black cavern. The Tunneler was going to find her and when it did, it was going to finish the job. Gyre choked on her fear. She knew she should move. She should run and find her way out, alone or not. Fuck Em. Gyre couldn’t just wait here to die. But she was frozen except for her trembling, straining her ears for any sign of the Tunneler’s approach. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out what little she could see of the uncanny chamber, its too-smooth walls and right angles, and tried to calculate how long she had left. If she listened very hard, she thought she could hear something like a distant roar. It wasn’t the vibration in her bones, not yet, but it was only a matter of time. The Tunneler would come and then the cave would come down on her like crushing teeth, would swallow her up and keep her forever in the deep, dark places below. She’d gone too far, seen too much, and now the cave would never let her go—

“Gyre?”

Gyre had to bite back a sob. Em. Em came back for her. Em always came back. Relief and terror swelled together in her chest. She curled inward, arms wrapped around herself, and shook her head fiercely, knowing that Em would be able to see. _Be quiet,_ she begged silently, _it’ll hear you. Be quiet, don’t kill me, Em._

“Gyre,” Em said in spite of her prayers. “What are you doing up?”

Her voice was thick with sleep. Em had been _sleeping?_ She’d gone to sleep and left Gyre alone, injured and scared, with the Tunneler still out there? She should have been angry, but there wasn’t room for any other emotions with the fear expanding like a balloon inside her.

“Be quiet,” she breathed. “The Tunneler.” It was still too much, too loud, but she had to stop Em. How could she have forgotten the Tunneler? Did she want it to come for Gyre? Would she hand Gyre over to the cave, just like that? Lay all its history to rest. Forget about them. About her. The thought made her eyes burn.

There was silence. Thank god. Thank god. It was enough to know Em was there, even if she couldn’t hear her, even if she couldn’t see her words on the damaged visor. Em would figure something out. Em said—she said she would come for her.

There was a _click_ and a change in the quality of the light through her eyelids. Soft yellow pressing in through the cracks. Did Em turn on her headlamp? Was she trying to show her something?

Before Gyre could compose herself, before she could even open her eyes, there were footsteps coming up behind her. Not hers, not hers this time, she wasn’t moving, it was someone _else—_

Her whole body jackknifed in terror. Gyre wrenched her eyes open and spun around, throwing her remaining hand up in front her, backing away from whatever ghost the cave had dredged up to haunt her.

What she saw didn’t make sense. There was light spilling out from a side passage, the opening too regular to be natural, and it backlit the figure approaching her. A woman cast in silhouette. Hands outstretched like she wanted to catch Gyre, hold her tight, drag her step by step toward the Long Drop and everything waiting below. “Gyre,” Em said again, and the figure’s mouth moved in cruel mockery.

It was Isolde. 

A moan broke from Gyre’s throat. “No,” she said, Tunneler forgotten. “No, no, you’re not real. This isn’t real.” 

Isolde took a step toward her and Gyre nearly screamed. She pressed her hand over her eyes, shaking, mumbling _no no no no no._ She couldn’t be real. She hadn’t been real last time either, but Gyre hadn’t listened to Em—

“Em,” she pleaded. “Tell me it isn’t real.”

“Gyre.” Em sounded close to breaking. She had been so close to getting Gyre out, and she was losing her. Gyre felt a flash of perverse comfort at the pain in her voice. “Gyre, look at me. You’re safe. It’s real.”

The world rocked beneath Gyre’s feet. _Real._ Oh god, if Em could see Isolde, if she’s really there, then Gyre’s never getting out. Isolde—her presence, her absence—loomed over every caver that ever died in this place, their terrible unspoken charge. A woman who would never be found. But finding her was so much worse, Gyre realized. Because if she was still here after all this time, what hope did Gyre have of defying the cave? It would always be waiting for her, like it had waited so patiently for Isolde, and it would keep her just the same. In ten years, maybe it would be Gyre herself beckoning to a frightened caver, sent down by Em to look for _her_. It would never let either of them go.

Gyre staggered backwards, playing for distance. Still fighting, because she didn’t know how not to. She was sure that if Isolde touched her, it was over. Her hands would be cold marble. They would snap around her like shackles, and it would be over. 

She backed into something in her haste to retreat, felt it skid out from under her, and Gyre fell hard onto her back. She tried to catch herself with her missing arm. Her head cracked against the ground instead. She cried out, more in surprise than pain.

“Shit. Gyre!” 

More footsteps. Faster. Closing in.

She wanted to tell Em she was sorry. All she could get out were hitching breaths of pain and fear. She was going to die, and Em was going to watch her die, after everything she couldn’t make it—she couldn’t—she—

She cracked open her eyes and Isolde was kneeling over her. Reaching out. Certainty settled over her, cold and unyielding, a slab of stone pushed over her tomb. She was going to die.

A hand closed on Gyre’s upper arm.

A warm, alive hand. Gyre could _feel_ it. It clung too hard, close to bruising. Another hand came up to touch her throat, her jaw, her cheek. Places her suit should have been, where there should have been armor protecting her from the cave. 

Except she wasn’t wearing a suit. 

“Are you okay?” Em said. “Gyre, look at me. Are you hurt?”

Gyre opened her eyes. Gyre looked at her, at where Isolde had been moments before—and it was only Em.

Em touching her. Em looking down at her with huge, frightened eyes. Em kneeling on the cold floor in the middle of the night, trying to bring Gyre back to her. 

Everything slammed back into place with the weight of a Tunneler’s passing, forcing the gaps in Gyre’s reality back together. Gyre was home. She was safe. She could feel the hardwood under her bare feet and the edge of a rug against her lower back. The light came from the kitchen doorway, haloing Em in pale yellow. She had tripped over a fucking stool. She wanted to laugh. She thought she might have, but judging by the look on Em’s face, it hadn’t come out quite right.

“Please say something. Come back to me,” Em said.

The sound of her voice sent another cold lance of fear through Gyre’s gut. Her voice was lies and uncertainty. Obsession. Inevitability. It was no sun and no one to touch her ever again. Her voice was the cave. Gyre closed her eyes, but the dark was worse, so she made herself look at Em. She was real and here with her. Gyre could feel the heat of her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt. Focus. Focus on that.

“I’m okay,” Gyre said at last.

Em exhaled shakily. Gyre saw her tuck her own fear into a little mental drawer to deal with later. Gyre flushed hot in the face of Em’s composure. Even now, Em was so good at hiding what she didn’t want Gyre to see. Anger breached the surface of her relief and fading panic. Gyre knew she was easy to read. She wondered if Em still saw numbers when she looked at her, heart rate and oxygen and hormone levels. She wanted to ask if Em was getting any useful data. The words were on her lips.

 _Stop,_ Gyre thought. Less a reprimand than a plea. This was what they had. This was what Gyre _wanted._ The two of them together. Em’s narrow fingers locked around her wrist. Held.

“You’re sure?” Em said. The hair on Gyre’s arm rose. God, she was tired of being afraid of Em. “You fell pretty—”

Gyre reached up and pressed her trembling fingertips to Em’s lips. Em’s eyebrows drew together, but she fell silent. After so long living in Gyre’s head, she usually knew what Gyre needed. Even if she didn’t know why.

“I’m okay,” Gyre said again, steadier this time. “Just. Please. I can’t—” She cut herself off. How do you tell your girlfriend _the sound of your voice makes me feel like I’m about to die?_

Em’s eyes softened with something close to understanding. Her hands shifted, never completely letting go, and she pulled Gyre up into her arms without a word. Her nails bit through the material of Gyre’s shirt, desperate, greedy, and Gyre relished the ache.

Em couldn’t hide from her anymore. Not like this. She might try, but now Gyre knew her and she knew she needed Gyre, too. She pressed her damp face into the curve of Em’s neck. Skin against skin, the weight of her arms, Em’s breath in her ear. Nothing in the cave had ever been this real.

Em ran her fingers through Gyre’s hair until she went limp, exhausted, crashing from the adrenaline. She pressed her lips to Gyre’s temple and gently untangled them, tugging Gyre to her feet. She left the kitchen light burning behind them as she led the way to their bedroom. Gyre followed her easily. That was something she never forgot how to do. The sheets were still warm when they slipped between them.

Gyre rolled onto her side and reached out blindly. Em caught her hand. Laced their fingers together. Gyre felt the last cold twist of fear leave her.

“Okay. It’s okay now,” Gyre whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” Em said. Gyre knew that tone and the guilt that lived in it. She didn’t think she would ever find the right words to fully take it away. Sometimes she wasn’t sure she would if she could.

“Dunno. Being a mess, I guess.” The exhaustion was settling in deep now. Gyre let her eyes drift closed. 

Em didn’t respond to that. Instead, she felt Em pull their joined hands up and her lips brushed Gyre’s knuckles. “We can go to the natural history museum in the morning, if you feel up for it.”

Gyre hummed. Em was trying to distract her. Handle her. Gyre let her; she knew it made Em feel better. And she had never been to a museum. “And get lunch at the dumpling place?”

“Obviously.”

A smile tugged at Gyre’s lips. “Sounds nice,” she mumbled. 

The cave was far away from them now. Star systems and days travel away. But sometimes Gyre’s footsteps rang hollow, the ground eggshell-thin beneath her, and the void of the cave below. She could feel the hungry ache of it at the edges of her soul. She probably always would. And so would Em. 

But Gyre was warm and comfortable and could feel Em keeping watch over her like something precious. More than any distance or time, it was Em that stood between her and the cave, and Gyre knew intimately how stubborn Em could be. She had set her teeth in Gyre and the marks ran deeper than any hole in the ground. It was better than armor, better than any suit or computer.

Gyre fell asleep feeling safe, clutched in Em’s hands.

**Author's Note:**

> yes these girls have issues yes I DO believe they're in love
> 
> you can come say hi on tumblr [here!](https://corpsesoldier.tumblr.com)


End file.
